Love's Poison
by NightSociety
Summary: Lovino's gone - just an empty shell of himself. Antonio, clueless of how to bring his little tomato back, is going to get his revenge. And it is best served cold.
1. Chapter 1

**Not much to say about this chapter except for thanks for deciding to read! This was thought up by me and a very good friend of mine on here turtle001. This chapter is to just kick things off. It'll get longer. Promise.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I will never own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Language**

* * *

**Chapter One**

"Why don't you just get off my case already? I went out for a few drinks, okay? Stop being so fucking overprotective! Give me some fucking space! Damn!" Lovino retorted with cheeks tinged pink.

"Lovi, have you not seen the news? The crime around here has gotten worse and worse! I don't want anything happening to you!" Antonio tried reasoning with his little tomato but he could clearly see that the latter had too much to drink—if not then he nearly did.

"How many times do I have to tell to not call me 'Lovi'? It's annoying as hell! My name is _Lovino,"_ he was kicking off his shoes. "We've only been in this country two fucking years and you still won't get off my back! I'm not some teenager who needs to be kept on a leash all the damn time! I was with Feliciano! Nothing was going to happen!"

The possibilities ran through Antonio's head but he wasn't going to voice them. That would only anger the Italian further. So, trying to make peace between them, Antonio took a deep breath and used a much calmer tone. "Lovino," he was careful to use the man's full name. "I was just worried about you. I didn't mean to make you mad."

"Yeah, well, you did!" Lovino's tone was merciless.

Antonio was about to speak when Lovino interrupted him, "I just want to be alone, okay? I've got a headache and need some sleep."

The door to their shared bedroom closed with an unbearable _click._

Antonio was infuriated now! So much for trying to set things straight! Grabbing his coat and slipping on his shoes, the Spaniard stormed out of the house and to his car, intending to clear his head with a drive around town. Thirty minutes wouldn't hurt.

They were just too different, he and Lovino. Maybe they weren't meant to be…

No, no! He couldn't allow himself to think like that! This entire thing would blow over in about an hour or so when Lovino finally had the chance to shake off the alcohol running through his system. If Feliciano was there with him at the bar then there was no doubt the young Italian chatted Lovino's ear off the entire time. And Lovino already lacked patience for his younger brother—the alcohol helped none.

Stopping to reconsider leaving his boyfriend alone at this time of night, he took note that the neighborhood was too quiet, the sky was too dark and the stars were too bright. The diamond pinpoints in the sky were watching him, analyzing his every move and the velvet sky cast large shadows that even scared the crickets out of their song for the evening.

Maybe he should go back…

No, that probably wouldn't be wise. It would just spark another unnecessary argument.

Lovino wanted some "space"? Well, damn it, the man was going to get some "space."

Antonio continued towards his vehicle, ignoring the dangerous somersaults his stomach was taking. It must've just been something he ate, Antonio thought. Pulling out of the driveway, the headlights scanned across the front of the house and illuminating a dark figure beside the house.

"It's just an old tree," the Spaniard kept disregarding his stomach's lurches and sped away.

However, the "tree" made its way to the front door.

* * *

The door creaking open inside the quiet house might as well have been a scream. With stealth and precision, he was careful not to make too much noise inside the dark home but he moved with accuracy—he had been here hundreds of times and knew the layout of this house like the back of his hand.

Hearing the sound of the front door opening, forest green eyes stared into the darkness, the only light being that of the full moon. Lovino sat up, his senses on high alert. Was Antonio already back? Fighting the sledgehammer beating relentlessly into his head, the Italian slid out of bed and poked his head out of the bedroom door to check things out. When he deemed it relatively safe, Lovino flicked on the switch.

His shoes made soft _squelch_ing noises and he smirked as his plan was set into motion. He was caught unaware as the hall light turned on and he swiftly moved to blanket himself in the shadows.

"Antonio? Is that you?" Lovino called out down the hall, obviously too anxious to venture out into the dark living room alone. Smart man, the invader had to admit. Looks like he'd been watching those horror films where the idiotic teenager goes to investigate and ends up getting killed.

He wanted to laugh at how pathetic and frail Lovino sounded. It amused him to no end.

The knife that glinted in the intruder's hand reflected the intentions of his ardent eyes.

"Antonio, this is no time for a game. Stop fucking around," Lovino's tone carried apprehension close by and that made trespasser's sneer broaden and even a small chuckle escaped.

This would be too fun!

This would be too easy!

Like a lamb to the slaughter.

And it _would _be a slaughter.

One that would be a beautiful symphony of pain, screaming and the sound of gunshots… yes. He glanced around—the walls needed to be repainted anyway. And what better color than to be a vibrant crimson? It would make the place so much more… _livelier._

Seeing that Lovino had no intention of coming any further, the invader scuffled his feet across the floor, effectively drawing the Italian's attention. Lovino didn't advance further though; he only froze at his bedroom door.

"Antonio?"

Silence.

Darkness.

Uncertainty.

Desperation.

Fear.

"Okay, look, I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier, all right? It was a long day at work and it wasn't right of me to take it out on you. Just stop playing this stupid ass game! It's not funny!" Lovino felt his feet involuntarily moving forward.

"Who said it's a game?" the intruder's voice was almost a playful purr.

Lovino, jumping back as soon as he heard the voice, could only stare in trepidation when he was staring at a familiar face. And said familiar person was now raising his gun to pull the trigger.

The man grinned.

"Run."

* * *

Antonio pulled into the driveway after his thirty minute cool-off. The streets were practically barren this late into the evening so he had no quarrels with traffic to set him off again. Walking with a hop in his step, Antonio was in no hurry open the door. The feeling from before had vanished but as soon as he put his hand on that brass knob to enter his home, a strong chill ran up his arm and rippled throughout his body, making his breath catch and heart stop.

Whatever had happened, his instincts were telling him to not go in… to not see what lay in store for him. With a stiff hand, he turned it and was met with a dark home—just as he had left it. But something was wrong. Terribly wrong. He ran his hand along the wall to feel for the switch to try and alleviate his overwhelming sense of dread but when he found it, no light came on.

Okay, so maybe the bulb burned out?

"Lovi?" Antonio called and was only answered by the beating of his own heart against his ribcage. "Lovino, where are you?"

The Italian could very well be asleep.

Searching for the lamp that was near the door, he turned it on. And he nearly collapsed to his knees. The living room was trashed: broken glass, scattered papers… blood on the walls and on the carpet. The red splotches on the floor were far too large…

"Lovino!" Antonio took off in a sprint up the stairs, checking every single room and finding nothing. He did the same when he came back down, checking the bathroom, their bedroom, the guest room. "Lovino where are you!"

A cold gust of air wafted through the room, drawing Antonio's attention to the back door.

"Lovino?" he followed his gut and went outside. "Are you out here?"

There he found his beloved in a jumbled mess on the patio with clothes stained red and a pool of it collecting beneath him.

"Lovino!" Antonio carefully cradled his lover into his arms.

The Italian's skin was a deathly pale, taking in shallow, much needed breaths, clinging onto this life with a weak will. Through half-lidded eyes, the duo made eye contact before they slipped closed. Antonio shakily stood and rushed out to his car, praying that his little tomato would make it. Little did he know that it would be the last time he would see those beautiful forest green eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Antonio couldn't stop pacing—he was completely restless as he waited for the doctor to emerge from Lovino's room. The guilt wouldn't allow him to sit still. It ate away at him, taking the smallest and most painful of bites at his heart, slowly eating it.

How could he have let this happen? He was supposed to protect Lovino! Hadn't he promised himself that when they moved to America? To keep Lovino out of harm's way? Isn't that why they moved to America in the first place? He had yet again failed to do what he intended. He never should've left the house on this night. Maybe, if he had stayed, then this wouldn't have happened.

But he knew better. It was fate. She had her puppet strings bound to them and she controlled them as she pleased. Antonio's mind raced to another thought: where were Ludwig and Feliciano? They said they'd be here in—

"Antonio!" a voice could be heard and the Spaniard barely had time to turn and see who it was before he was almost knocked to the ground.

The Italian hugging him trembled in his arms and held onto him tightly. Feliciano tried to stifle his sobs but failed. At this, Antonio placed his hand atop Feliciano's head of auburn hair, "Don't worry, Feliciano. I'm sure everything will be all right."

Who was he fooling? Himself? Antonio knew it wasn't going to be all right. There was too much blood lost, too many wounds, Lovino's skin was too pale, his breathing too shallow and his heart beat too slow… hearing his own thoughts echo in his head, Antonio shooed them away. He had to remain optimistic for Lovino's sake and his very own.

Ludwig was trailing behind Feliciano at a more normal pace, attempting to appear as calm as ever. The Spaniard knew this was not the case, however. Ludwig was just as worried as the rest of them if not more. Feliciano had already unlatched himself from Antonio and moved back to Ludwig who placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Hello, Antonio," Ludwig greeted and the Spaniard nodded in acknowledgement. "I assume they haven't said anything about Lovino's condition?"

"No," Antonio shook his head. "They had to perform surgery immediately. He's still in there. It's only been two hours though. I didn't call you until recently because I wanted things to calm down. There have been investigators in and out of here."

Ludwig nodded in understanding and for the longest time, the only sounds were from Feliciano's constant sobbing and tears crashing to the floor. They sat in silence for the next hour, the quiet acting like anvils on their hearts and minds.

The door opening and closing drew the trio's attention instantaneously and the young doctor readjusted the glasses on her face with a sigh before sitting before the concerned group.

"Mr. Vargas has made it through the surgery successfully. He is no longer in danger. With blood transfusions, he'll heal just fine," a smile did not appear on her face to assuage the situation and she continued. "However, he is in a coma. The blow—or should I say _blows—_to his head caused a great ordeal of damage. I have no way of predicting when he'll wake up. I'm very sorry everyone. I wish I could do more."

"It's all right, Elizabeta," Antonio was struggling to keep himself in check although he was failing miserably. "I understand."

The Hungarian doctor placed her hand on Antonio's and offered what she assumed was a comforting smile, "I'm sure everything will be just fine. We'll have around the clock care for him in case there are any changes. And if there are, we'll let you know immediately. You may go see him if you wish."

"_Gracias," _was Antonio's strangled reply.

Elizabeta stood then and bid farewell to Ludwig and Feliciano before taking her leave and the three others didn't hesitate in making their way to Lovino's room. All, however, froze in the doorway when they saw the condition of the Italian. Antonio was the first to move, though, and sat in the chair closest to his lover.

Some color had returned to Lovino's complexion but that didn't soothe the face that underneath the bandages were bruises, broken bones, and stab wounds. The Spaniard held Lovino's hand in his, noticing at how much warmer it was compared to before. Antonio, now falling apart at the seams, hid his face in his hands and broke down quietly.

Feliciano could no longer bear to look at his brother. It was too much. Hiding his face in Ludwig's chest, Feliciano gripped the latter's clothing tightly. It was so hard to believe that Lovino had just been at the bar joining him for a few drinks and chatting only hours ago. How quickly things can change; how quickly fate decides to have a hand in people's lives and change the cards they are dealt. It made him sick to his stomach.

Ludwig just held Feliciano close, trying to do as much as he could without having to say anything. What could he say? Don't worry and everything will be all right? No. What good would that have done? Absolutely none. And so, while Antonio and Feliciano wept, Ludwig was the one who was going to keep his act together—for the sake of his friends.

* * *

_Floating._

_Alone._

_Darkness._

_Anguish._

_Fear._

_Floating alone in the darkness with an excruciation pain exploding throughout his body… where was he? Why was he alone? Why was he alone in this vast abyss? It was cold, so very cold. But also very warm. He tried to reach out but his hands were pinned to his sides and felt like cement blocks. He tried to scream but no sound came. Where was Antonio? Why wasn't he here with him?_

_He wanted the man to hold him close, to whisper sweet nothings in his ear, to run his lithe fingers through his hair and to kiss him tenderly. Without Antonio, he might as well be experiencing death. He would rather die than the man to disappear from his life forever—he could actually very well be dead._

_His unspoken desires drifted away from him in the darkness as it consumed him further, pulling him and holding him like a mother would hold their child. It made him feel safe. Safer than he could ever hope to be in this never-ending place._

* * *

"Antonio," a voice said. "Wake up."

A hand shook his shoulder and the Spaniard stirred. Antonio lifted his head and saw Lovino standing next to him, making his heart leap with joy.

"Lovi?"

"No," Lovino shook his head and the Italian's face transformed to a lighter complexion, a less than feminine jawline, bright amber eyes and auburn hair. "It's Feliciano."

"Oh. Feli. _Lo siento. _I didn't mean to mistake you for him," Antonio rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"It's all right. Ludwig and I were going to head home. You should get going, too, so you can get some rest. Elizabeta says we can't stay any longer," Feliciano said.

"What time is it?" Antonio yawned.

"Nearly four in the morning. You can stay with us for the night."

"I see. _Gracias, _Feli," Antonio slowly stood and gave a tired smile. He half expected for the duo to go ahead and leave.

"We'll walk out with you," Feliciano read the look in Antonio's eyes.

Antonio nodded and rested his lips on Lovino's forehead, leaving behind a feathery kiss. _"Te amo, mi amor. Despertemos pronto."_

The Spaniard followed his two friends out and regrettably shut the door behind him.

* * *

"Antonio?"

Said man looked up from his plate of food and was met with the sight of Elizabeta and a blonde man stood next to her. His jade eyes were as cold as green ice and his expression was set in stone. But Antonio couldn't pay much attention to that—this man's eyebrows were _huge!_

"Toni, this is Arthur Kirkland. He's an investigator who's just going to ask you a few questions about what happened last week."

"Of course he is," Antonio's tone was bitter. The Spaniard had had it up to his ears with police officers popping in and out whenever they pleased.

Arthur raised a thick eyebrow.

"It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Kirkland. What do you need to ask me?" Antonio decided to change his attitude for the better.

"Likewise," Arthur nodded then he turned to Elizabeta and smiled. "Thank you, Mrs. Edelstein. Tell Roderich I said hello."

Antonio was surprised at the man's English accent.

"Will do. See you around, Arthur," Elizabeta waved and went towards the elevators.

Arthur took the empty seat across from Antonio and pulled out a pad and pen, "Well, Mr. Carriedo, let's get started, shall we?"

Antonio remained quiet and pushed his (rather unpleasant tasting) cafeteria food away from him.

"Where were you the night Mr. Vargas was attacked?"

He got to the point rather quick. All the other ones that strolled in here wasted time with pointless questions that had hardly any relevance to the case at all.

"I was out driving around," Antonio replied.

"And where were you going?"

"Nowhere; I just needed to clear my head. Lovino and I had an argument before I left and driving around town helps me cool off."

"Ah, I understand that far too well," Arthur was scribbling something down on the paper.

"You argue with your girlfriend all the time?" Antonio knew it was a personal question but he was never really one to worry too much about that.

"Boyfriend," if Arthur was offended then he didn't show it and relaxed against the chair. "And yes, we argue quite a lot. He's a complete idiot but he has a good heart and means well."

Antonio felt relieved. There was someone who understood him. When Antonio had revealed to the other detectives that he and Lovino were more than just friends, their expressions didn't change—their eyes did, however. He saw the disgust and condescension just scream at him. But this man didn't even bat an eye. He accepted him.

There was a comforting silence and Arthur straightened himself. He had gotten distracted.

"Sorry, I got sidetracked. Let's continue," Arthur cleared his throat and was prepared to write Antonio's responses. "So you had no particular place in mind. What time did you leave?"

"About 10:25."

Arthur wrote this down while asking the next question, "And what time did you arrive home?"

"11:00."

"So you were gone roughly thirty-five to forty minutes."

"Yes; that's how long I'm usually gone. I might visit a friend's house or something. It depends on my mood and how long Lovino needs time to cool down," Antonio watched the man write.

"What did you do when you left the house?"

It was Antonio's turn to raise an eyebrow. That was an odd question…

"Um, I locked the door and went to my car. I always have to lock the door because that's one of Lovino's pet peeves. He's adamant about keeping it locked. I don't blame him though."

Arthur penned that as well, "How severe are your arguments with Mr. Vargas?"

"Eh, _that _depends on _his_ mood. He has a short temper and I can usually tell when something is bothering him—usually. He's pretty good at hiding when he's upset about something though."

"What would you say is the worst argument you've had?"

Antonio felt like he was in a therapy session. But, it helped with the guilt weighing down his heart somehow. He sighed, "Last week was the worst."

"Do your arguments ever escalate to physical violence?" Arthur set his gaze on Antonio's face to watch out for even the slightest change in his expression. A twitch, a simple blink that would give away everything.

"No," Antonio's answer was short and curt. "I would _never _lay a hand on him. Ever."

"Did he ever hit you?" Arthur's stare wasn't so vigilant.

"No."

"Good," Arthur said. "Well Antonio, it _seems_ you have a solid alibi here. But as you know, so much can go wrong in such a short amount of time. I'm going to be honest: you're the prime suspect."

"How?" Antonio's reaction was near explosive and drew the attention of others around them. "What part of 'I would _never _lay a hand on him' do you not seem to understand?"

"Sit down; you're making a scene," Arthur growled. "I'm just telling you the truth. Look, no one else had access to your home besides yourself and Lovino right? You lock the door every time one of you leaves the house so that automatically rules out someone just walking in unless they picked the lock. And there were no signs of forced entry as far as I know—no broken windows, no picked locks."

Antonio stopped. This man was intelligent. Too intelligent.

Arthur smirked to himself. Got him.

* * *

"Feliciano? Did you want to visit Lovino today?" Ludwig walked into the room.

"No," Feliciano shook his head and rolled over in the bed. "I don't feel well."

"All right. I'm going to go to the store. Do you need anything?"

"No, thank you," Feliciano didn't lift his head from the pillow.

Ludwig nodded, "I'll be back." And left.

Feliciano sat up, trying to overcome his intolerable headache. Why did his head hurt so bad? Why did his stomach clench every time his brother was mentioned?

He knew he should've gone to see his brother but something was telling him to stay right where he was—Antonio was there. It would be all right.

Whispering that… Lovino wouldn't be waking up anytime soon.

So, with that, Feliciano continued to lay in bed and sleep the day away, comforted by the voice in his head

* * *

Arthur's bright eyes waited for Antonio to retort but none came, "So, Mr. Carriedo, did you attack Mr. Vargas last week?"

"_No," _Antonio put extra stress on the word. "Why are you so hell-bent on me confessing what I didn't do? I would never hurt Lovino. Never. I love him."

"Well, here's where I would say that what's love got to do with it?" Arthur leaned back in the chair. "Surely you've seen those TV shows where someone snaps and ends up killing the one they love because of insurance money or an affair? This is a little like that. From what I've heard, you moved to this country because those who knew about Lovino's grandfather's inheritance were trying to kill him. It's the same with Feliciano."

"What makes you so certain that _I _did it? You've got any proof?"

"I could actually arrest you right now. All the evidence at the crime scene points to you."

Antonio's heart stopped, "What?"

Arthur nodded, "The muddy shoe prints we found around the house fit the size and sole of a pair of shoes in your closet. Those shoes were caked in mud. And we managed to find strands of your hair scattered about as well. All we need is your fingerprints and we'll be through."

"I'm not the only one with a key to my house."

"I'm sorry?"

"Feliciano has a key to my house. Did you interrogate him? Or am I just the deranged lover that was after my boyfriend's inheritance?"

Arthur now had some food for thought.


	3. Chapter 3

**This chapter was a bit of a struggle but I enjoyed writing it nonetheless. Thank you for all the support whether it be in the form of story alerts, favorites, or reviews. It is all appreciated. I hope you are enjoying the roller coaster ride so far because it's about to have more twists and turns.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Language**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

** "**_No! No! No!" Lovino screamed inside his own head as his body convulsed with pain from each relentless blow battering against him. "Go away! Leave me alone!"_

_But the beating didn't stop or relieve its intensity. His mouth opened in a silent scream as his lungs seemed to catch fire and burn inside his chest. His muscles contracted with each invisible clout. His breath shortened with each flame ignited. The loud gunshots reverberated and he felt himself being impaled by the bullets and the cold knife that pierced his bruised flesh._

_Where was Antonio?_

_Where was he? He needed Antonio here to bring him solace!_

_It was too much! He couldn't take the fire incinerating his mind, body and soul!_

_Antonio…_

_Where was he…?_

_Why didn't he come to his rescue?_

_Lovino felt himself crumbling under the sheer weight of everything. Tears slicked down his cheeks in thick trails that fell into nothing._

_His body… weakening._

_His heart… slowing._

_His soul… buried._

_His will to go on… spent._

_Soon, there would be nothing left of him. He would be left to burn in the indiscernible fire with no one to say farewell to. With no one to be by his side as he left this world._

_This world._

_What was this… this world? This world of darkness with no escape._

_He would be… alone._

_Left to die._

_Alone._

_And suddenly, it stopped._

_The pain was gone and he was just floating aimlessly amidst the shadows that embraced him warmly, holding him like was a frightened child. He hoped this feeling of absolute security would stay with him for as long as he was in this place. He didn't want to be afraid anymore—and he had been terribly afraid before he found the darkness. Or rather, before the darkness found him._

_It was safe here._

_He believed that._

Just hold on… _a voice murmured. It sounded so soothing. Who was it?_

_**Go ahead. Do it. Let go. **__It was a second voice; it was warm and inviting like the first but there was something far nastier about it. It was more of an alluring purr a predator would use to disarm its prey._

Don't listen—it's not your time.

_**Your time is up.**_

There is so much more to look forward to.

_**You should end it here. Right now.**_

You've got your whole life in front of you.

_**You've got nothing to live for!**_

There's a reason to live!

_**Stay here with me. Give in to me.**_

You just can't give up!

_**Please end it! Please end it all!**_

Don't do it. Did you forget about the ones that you would hurt?

_**Just a few more seconds and it'll all be over.**_

_The voices chased themselves around inside his head, battling each other over his conscience, without either one overpowering the other. As they clashed, it sent waves of pain pulsating through his mind. He didn't know how to make them stop or which one to listen to. All he wanted was silence. Sweet, sweet tranquility._

_He didn't want to be afraid._

_He didn't want the memories._

_He didn't want to feel pain._

_As long as the darkness kept those terrors away, he would be content._

_He then felt himself sinking._

_Sinking into his opaque bliss…_

_A place where no one could touch him._

_A place where no one could hurt him._

_A place where he would be safe._

_**Yes.**_

_**You are safe here.**_

* * *

Whispers…

So many whispers…

Feliciano held his head in his hands, trying to sort out the different voices. Or was it only one voice? And if only one voice, _who _was it? As he was trying to sift through the words and make sense of what they were saying, they became quiet. Odd. So very odd.

Feliciano curled into the sheets, feeling the unexpected wave of fear crashing over him. His heart dropped into his stomach and his stomach dropped further. He didn't know why he was scared. He just was. Maybe the one who hurt Lovino was coming after him now…

After all, there were people who tried to kill them in the past simply because of who their grandfather was. It wouldn't surprise him if that was the case.

Getting out of the bed and to his feet, Feliciano shuffled out of the room and to the bathroom. He let the cold water slosh through his hands before splashing it on his face. He couldn't shake off the overwhelming sense of dread and now added to that was guilt.

But what was he guilty for?

He had done nothing wrong.

Did he forget something? As far as he knew, it hadn't been anyone's birthday recently. He was positive no one he knew had a birthday in August. Or perhaps it was his and Ludwig's anniversary… no, that wasn't for another two months.

If nothing then why was he feeling so… culpable?

Knocks at the door shattered his train of thought and slipping on a shirt, he quickly checked to see who it was. It was no one he recognized but the man didn't _look_ dangerous. From what he could see, the visitor's hair was blonde and was fairly short in stature.

_**Don't answer the door.**_

Feliciano looked over his shoulder.

Who had said that?

Reaching for the lock, Feliciano's hand abruptly froze in place like someone was physically stopping him. It felt like ice cold fingers were wrapped tightly around his wrist.

_**Don't answer the door.**_

The voice was snarling this time.

Who was it?

Pushing through it, Feliciano opened the door, "May I help you?"

"Feliciano Vargas, correct?" the blonde asked.

"Yes. Who are you?"

"Good afternoon, sir, my name is Arthur Kirkland. I'm the investigator that has been assigned to solve your brother's case," the Englishman said.

Feliciano noticed the relief settling on his heart. Hopefully this man would know who hurt his brother and put him behind bars! He didn't like knowing the fact that the culprit was still running loose on the streets… he could hurt someone else or come after Lovino when the Italian was in such a weak state.

"I'd like to ask you a few questions," Arthur's voice pulled him from his thoughts again. "May I come in?"

Feliciano paused when he heard the voice again: _**Don't let him in.**_

_Why not? _Feliciano asked the unknown spokesperson. _Why can't I let him in?_

_**It'll only cause trouble,**_the response was almost immediate.

Overlooking the obvious threat lurking behind its tone, Feliciano stepped aside to let Arthur inside his home. The Englishman glanced around, taking in everything.

"You live alone, Mr. Vargas?"

"Uh, no, my boyfriend Ludwig went to the store," Feliciano watched the man.

"And when should we be expecting him to return?"

"Maybe in another ten minutes. I'm not sure," the Italian shrugged.

Arthur seemed suffice with that answer for he nodded. Then he added, "You should probably give him notice that I'm here. I don't think he'd too much appreciate the fact that his boyfriend is home alone with another man even if I'm only here to ask you questions."

"Yes… of course," the golden eyed man glanced guardedly at Arthur before letting Ludwig know of their unexpected guest via phone call. The German didn't seem _too _thrilled about having Arthur there but obviously was grateful for the notification. After hanging up with Ludwig and travelling to the kitchen, Feliciano noticed Arthur scanning the room with judicious emerald eyes.

"You can sit down if you'd like," Feliciano said with a small smile.

"Oh. Thank you," Arthur took the offered seat.

"Would you like something to drink, Mr. Kirkland?"

"No, thank you," Arthur returned it with a smile of his own.

Feliciano nodded and returned to the living room and sat on the chair adjacent to Arthur's. It was awkwardly quiet for a few moments before Arthur decided to speak.

"I apologize for not giving you any sort of notice of my visitation. I just received some new information regarding your brother's case. I'm going to ask you some simple and direct questions and I suggest you answer them in the same fashion," Arthur said.

Feliciano nodded in understanding.

Arthur repeated the interrogation almost mechanically and wrote down each of Feliciano's responses. They were about ten minutes in when Ludwig walked through the door, carrying a few bags. The German eyed Arthur warily before greeting Feliciano with a kiss to the forehead.

Ludwig had set the bags down on the kitchen counter and went back to the living area where Arthur was standing, waiting to introduce himself.

"Arthur Kirkland," the Englishman held out his hand to shake.

The taller man shook it, "Ludwig Bielschmidt."

Both men seated themselves before Arthur continued.

"You were nowhere near your brother's house, correct?"

"Yes. I had dropped him off and came straight home and went to sleep."

"Where was your boyfriend?" Arthur questioned. Ludwig remained quiet and let Feliciano answer.

"He was home way before I was and already asleep," Feliciano replied.

"All right then. And from what I understand, you also have a key to your brother's house."

"Right. Antonio said I could go over whenever I liked. Lovino wasn't too happy about me having a key but he just acts that way sometimes. He's a very strange person but he's a nice guy," Feliciano laughed lightly.

Arthur smiled in amusement.

Feliciano's chipper attitude suddenly disappeared, _"Please_ tell me you've caught this madman."

Despite his earlier doubts, Feliciano needed confirmation. Even though he knew there was no point in hoping, he couldn't help but ask. And Arthur's silence was all the proof he needed.

"We're doing the best we can. I'd hate to say this but along with Antonio, you are also a suspect."

Feliciano's honey eyes widened. He was a suspect? But how could that be?

"B-But I'm his brother and Antonio is his boyfriend. You can't really believe that we'd do something like this to him!"

"I have to. Degree of relation matters not in a case. Even though a majority of the evidence points to Antonio, I don't have enough to arrest him. There weren't any weapons left at the scene so he either got rid of them or he has an accomplice who has them. So far, you and Antonio are the only ones on my list. There is no one else who has a key—and there was no forced entry," Arthur explained.

Feliciano couldn't believe his ears and neither could Ludwig.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Vargas. I apologize again for coming uninvited," Arthur shook both men's hands again prior to heading for the door where Ludwig showed the investigator out.

Feliciano stayed rooted in the living room with a thundering heart ready to burst out of his chest. He was panicking—how could he be a suspect? The police really wouldn't think he'd harm his own brother! He loved his brother! He looked up to him! While those thoughts raced around, the Italian felt something else overtaking his heart.

Something different.

Something darker.

Anger.

Hatred.

They brewed and bubbled inside him, collaborating with one another to add fuel to an already consuming fire. No… he just couldn't be a suspect. That man was wrong. He was so wrong.

_**I told you it would only cause trouble,**_the foreign voice in his head chided.

_And I should've listened, _Feliciano replied with an audible low growl. _You were right._

_**I will always be right. Stick with me and I will never lead you astray.**_

"Well," Ludwig was pushing back strands of some loose hair. "That was interesting." The man then noticed that Feliciano wasn't paying attention, just clenching and unclenching his fists. Ludwig could see the man's soft honey orbs had hardened to the coldest and most callous amber.

It was a look Ludwig had never seen from the usually kind and animated young Italian.

It even went as far as to drive a bit of anxiety if not fear into Ludwig's heart.

"Feliciano, are you feeling well?" Ludwig found it a challenge to speak for the animosity was emanating from Feliciano in short, strong bursts—it seemed indecisive of whether to show itself or not.

"I'm feeling just fine," Feliciano looked over his shoulder and threw a smile at the blonde. It didn't reach his pitiless eyes but yet it did.

Ludwig nodded, deciding it best to leave it at that.

What in the world was wrong with him?

"So what did you get, Ludwig? I'm starving!" Feliciano's chipper behavior took Ludwig by surprise. "Hopefully we'll be able to make pasta with it!"

Maybe he was being too observant. Feliciano was fine—the Italian said so himself. With a sigh and a genuine smile, Ludwig followed his lover into the kitchen to make lunch.

* * *

"Wake up, Lovi. Please wake up, _mi amor," _Antonio prayed silently beside Lovino's bed while holding the latter's lukewarm hand. It had gotten colder earlier in the day as if the Italian was descending further into his seemingly endless slumber.

Antonio had been praying for what seemed like hours now. It had no affect but it made the brunette feel somewhat better. It had brought some light on the gloomy situation. In his desperation and loneliness and bitter guilt, Antonio had yet to fail in visiting the Italian. He owed it to the man. He owed him everything. And Lovino could have it: his life, his heart and his soul.

If it meant that Lovino would wake up, Antonio would gladly hand it over to whoever desired it.

Outside though, the sun was too bright and the sky too blue. It, too, had attempted at shining some of its warm radiance onto Antonio's cold heart.

There was soft rapping at the door but Antonio did not look away from his comatose paramour.

"Come in."

He heard the quiet clicking of the door opening and closing and the visitor remained at the entryway so Antonio immediately knew that it was not Elizabeta.

"Mr. Carriedo," the voice had a thick accent.

"Arthur," the Spaniard carried the same monotone. "What brings you here?"

"I have some rather unfortunate news," Arthur said.

"What, you found out I wasn't guilty? How tragic for you," Antonio spat. The man knew he had become cynical in the past two and a half weeks but how was he supposed to maintain his "normal energetic" outlook on life when the only reason he kept it was lying in a hospital bed, mute and unresponsive?

Arthur ignored the sarcasm, "I've just been told that you are no longer allowed to visit Mr. Vargas until this case is closed."

It was at this point Antonio spun around, eyes now wider than the narrow slits they had been from lack of sleep. Arthur lowered his head and didn't make eye contact.

"_Why?"_

"You know why," Arthur said vaguely.

First suspicion and now complete isolation from the one he loved. Why didn't they just rip his heart out and throw it in the garbage? It would save them all tons of trouble and spare Antonio of his agony.

"However," Arthur continued as if what he said next would make everything better. "Though my superiors haven't, I've ruled you out as a suspect."

"…why do you say that? I thought I was after my boyfriend's insurance money and wanted him dead," Antonio's voice cracked from the lump in his throat.

"I was wrong about you and I'm sorry for that. I'll do the best I can to disprove your affiliation with the crime but I can't guarantee it. They may just come arrest you at any given time. It's not up to me on this," Arthur sat himself in the chair next to Antonio.

"What made you change your mind?" Antonio barely spoke above a whisper.

"The love you have for this man is almost palpable. And I know you would do anything to protect him. After all, I can relate. I'll do my very best to solve this. I promise," Arthur gave a half-smile.

"I can't live without him…"

"I know you can't. And you won't have to worry about that because I know he'll wake up."

Antonio's emerald eyes, for once in over a week, looked hopeful.

"Come on. We'd better go. They'll send reinforcements up here if we take too long," Arthur stood and headed for the door.

Antonio, now broken and in despair, kissed Lovino's pale, cool lips and murmured, _"Te amo."_

He then exited the room with no way of telling when he'd be able to lay his eyes on the injured Italian again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Oh dear me... it's been a while, hasn't it? (sSrew you, school). I am awfully sorry for the wait. This chapter, albeit short... was hard to get into the inspiration for who knows what reason /is brain dead from testing. Anywho, thanks for being so patient. I am truly sorry about the wait and I'll try my hardest to get the next one out ASAP. No guarantees though...**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Blood, language, etc.**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Antonio stared at the bright color soiling the carpet. It was one he encountered before… one he despised. It had once covered the walls, the floor… _everything. _It had covered his hands and stained his clothes and shoes. He was seeing it everywhere again, his vision becoming nothing but a filter of it.

The knife in his hands was caked with the color but he had cleaned it off, humming a weary tune to himself. He had to fix things. Lovino was still alive. Lovino was the cause of all this despair. He didn't hate the Italian. He hated these feelings he harbored and wanted nothing more than solace. It had to end. It had to end now. There was no other choice.

He needed a new pain.

His heart needed time to heal.

The color red dripped onto the floor from his wrists, trickling warmly from his fingertips. He hissed, eyes shut, not wanting to see that distasteful hue that burned so brightly in his memory. He needed this to be fixed.

He needed to get to Lovino so he could end it all.

Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he knew what needed to be done.

* * *

_It was nice here. The pain was gone. The sadness was gone, too. He was unaware of how long he had been floating aimlessly but he was content. There was no more suffering—no more enduring. He was at peace. The voice had kept its promise. It took all his misery away. He entrusted his life to that voice. It had saved him._

_Antonio._

_The Spaniard hadn't been plaguing his thoughts as of late. He wondered why. Was the voice responsible for this as well?_

_**I'm trying to protect you, **__it whispered as soon as Antonio's beautiful smile flashed in Lovino's mind. __**All he has done is cause you pain. I took that pain away, did I not?**_

_Lovino couldn't help but agree. All that was left was a blissful numbness he cherished. It was sweet detachment. Sweet, sweet nothing. Antonio wasn't here. He didn't need to worry if the Spaniard trusted him or not. In fact, he had nothing to worry about. Here he was a free man with no ties to anyone._

_**He left you alone. He let you get hurt by that madman. He let you go. He's worthless. He's nothing to you but the dirt on which you walk on!**_

_The voice was a menacing growl, spitting out the accusations with venom. Lovino mulled this over. Antonio… _did_ leave him after their fight. Antonio didn't come back for him. Antonio left him there, bleeding and helpless on the cold, hard ground._

_**Yes. That's right. Stay here with me and be safe and happy. I will be here for you. I won't hurt you. I won't leave you. I will protect you. As long as you're here for me, I'm here for you. Let him go. Let him suffer as much as you have! Leave him to die!**_

_Lovino agreed all too quickly. As long as this numbness remained, there would be no quarrels. He trusted this place. He trusted that voice. Maybe it was because the voice sounded like someone he knew. And in that familiar voice, Antonio's face dissolved into the abyss he was falling in._

Don't let go…

_Who was that?_

_It, too, sounded familiar. He couldn't pinpoint who though. It was on the tip of his tongue. It pained him how much he recognized this voice but couldn't say the person's name._

_He knew this person._

_He loved them with all his heart and soul._

_He loved them because they were keeping him in this perfect place of shadows._

* * *

Feliciano tossed and turned in bed, sleep fleeing from him as he chased it. Ludwig watched him restlessly, dark circles staining underneath his eyes. Being the light sleeper he was, the blonde couldn't be in peace with Feliciano squirming every few seconds. This had been going on for two weeks straight and neither were benefitting from it. The Italian was usually so serene whilst sleeping, never moving save for the occasional shift.

But this… this was different.

Ludwig assumed it was a nightmare with the way Feliciano's face was scrunched up in pain and/or fear. But Ludwig was at a loss this time. Every time his lover had a "nightmare," the Italian would be covered in sweat yet was shivering and he would get a fever that spiked between 100 and 104.

This was all normal to the German. What caught him off guard was when Feliciano had woken up with coffee brown eyes and an era of pride about him. The shorter man's was, if not slightly, deeper than usual and arrogance was dripping from each word he spoke. He wasn't as chipper as per usual and moved with confidence rather than clumsiness. _That_ Feliciano worried him. He didn't like waking up to that Feliciano and said man had made an appearance at least three times for a week straight.

It was beginning to make Ludwig anxious; more so than normal.

He could only hope that when Feliciano woke up, those amber eyes would be gazing at him with happiness and not those dark ones that burned with contempt.

* * *

Arthur sighed heavily. He didn't know what had gotten into him, just disproving Antonio's guilt like that. The higher-ups would _definitely _not approve of this. He had been working practically non-stop for two whole weeks to try and verify Antonio's innocence. There was nothing he could go on, though. The crime scene had been placed perfectly to frame Antonio as the culprit. Pinching the bridge of his nose, the Englishman pushed back the wave of guilt struggling to crash against him. He just _had _to show that Antonio was innocent. There was no other option.

Maybe this was because he wore his heart on his sleeve more often than not. Those emerald eyes held so much sorrow, so much pain and… love. The way that Antonio kept Lovino's hand in his, never holding it too tight in fear of breaking the fragile bedridden man—it was almost as if the Italian was Antonio's lifeline. The fretful Spaniard was terrified to let Lovino go. That much was certain. Antonio must've thought that if he freed that lukewarm hand, Lovino would be lost in slumber forever.

Arthur didn't blame the man for thinking such thoughts as he travelled to the window and stared into town. It was natural—to him, anyway-for the person you loved to become a part of your heart and soul.

Arthur Kirkland understood all too well. There was only one person in his life that gazed upon him with eyes so full of love. Even if said person was a man, he didn't mind the stares others gave them as they would walk through town, hands intertwined, or when his lover would kiss him tenderly in the middle of a crowd. He was happy—_they _were happy.

Alfred F. Jones made his life whole.

He couldn't imagine not having the American by his side, grinning and stuffing his face with hamburgers or just holding him tight to give off the feeling of security and warmth. If those sparkling eyes ever closed… death just might be better than enduring. It might. But Arthur was not a weak person. And neither was Antonio.

"…tie. Artie! Arthur!"

"Huh?" the Englishman returned from his thoughts.

"You all right? You zoned out for a minute there," ocean eyes glittered in concern.

"Oh, I do apologize. I'm perfectly fine, love. Just tired and a little stressed out is all," Arthur gave a soft smile and kissed Alfred's cheek and pat gently at it.

"And this is why I tell you to take breaks and not bring your work home with you," Alfred embraced his lover with a smile, pulling him close.

"Says the lawyer with a 97% conviction rate," Arthur chuckled.

"It's actually 98%," Alfred corrected.

"Ah, 98? Forgive me for my misconception," a smirk made itself visible on the shorter man's face.

"Mhmm," Alfred nuzzled his face in the crook of Arthur's neck and pressed his lips to the shorter man's neck, sending chills of pleasure through the Englishman's body.

He knew he had to get some more work done but Arthur figured he could use one little break. By the time he had buried his hand in Alfred's sandy hair and the American had slipped his hand under his shirt, Arthur had thrown all hesitation out the window. He tilted his head up to meet Alfred's warm and inviting lips in a fervent kiss.

The phone ringing shattered the romantic atmosphere and Arthur considered ignoring it until he realized it was his work phone. Aggravated, the Englishman pulled away mid-kiss and rushed to answer it. He raised an eyebrow upon seeing that the number was unrecognized.

"Who is it, babe?" Alfred was more than a little miffed that someone interrupted their moment (though someone had yet to fail in doing so).

Ignoring the nickname he detested, Arthur merely shrugged, "I'm not entirely sure. I should probably answer it just in case…"

The thought went uncompleted and the phone trilled for a few more agonizing seconds before Arthur finally put it to his ear, "Hello?"

"_Is this Arthur?"_

"Yes. Who might this be?"

"_You know who this is…"_

"Mr. Carriedo? Are you all right?"

"_I tried calling 911 but I called you instead, I guess."_

There was something off about the Spaniard's voice. It was callous and hoarse but still carried apprehension and despair. Arthur didn't like where this was going. His stomach was tightening unbearably and his heart sank into his stomach.

"Why would you need to call 911?"

"_I need an ambulance."_

"What's wrong?"

"_There's been a suicide."_

"Who's the victim?" Arthur choked.

"…_I am."_


End file.
